


Weight of Living

by grumpysimon



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beach, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everybody Lives, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi, Recovery, everybody lives au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4952665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpysimon/pseuds/grumpysimon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kieren Walker has hit rock bottom. The boy he loves is dead. He thinks that the only light at the end of the tunnel is a knife and an endless sleep, but it turns out that the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel is a dark haired boy with bloodshot eyes and needle scars, and a house by the seaside, in a town called Rainy Cove. Fluff and recovery ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rainy Cove

A little town named Rainy Cove, where it hardly ever rained at all. Folks has umbrellas but only for sunshine-- unlike the rest of their English friends. Seashells decorated the bleached white sand as waves crashed against the toes of laughing kids and the shores. Pushing the seashells and the hermit crabs back, back back with the holy power of the moon. Breezes stirred the sea during the nights, blowing the reeds and the trees from side to side. Heavy comforters with neat, tucked in edges. Small town. Small lovers: deep breaths covered the silence of their small bedrooms. Lovers bound to the edge of the border, but their love reaching far, far out into the sea.  
  
Rainy Cove existed bittersweetly-- a safe haven for those on long term vacation from their bruised pasts. Sunshine glimmered through the trees and laughter filled the air but in that same air air is a reminder of faint sadness. Rainy Cove could be wounds that has healed but left their marks, or happy tears, or the first smile after months frowning. Those who occupied it’s shops and streets and beaches carried colourized pasts as companions. Wanderers live in the boarding houses and let the sun burn their skin during the days. Rainy Cove is a speck on the map, a mistake, but those who drove far enough to find it never left. It is just a pocket of lonely hearts standing, staring out onto a vast, vast blue.

Lazy fishing boats lied out onto that blue horizon as far as the eye could see. They’d bring that fish to sell in their respective shops, smiling as they wrapped up every customer’s order in brown waxy paper. They has enough to make their living for their wives and husbands and themselves, sometimes, too.

Winters chilled the air, bringing hazy gray down on top of Rainy Cove like a woolen blanket. Snow didn’t fall much at all, but when it did, the townsfolk would flock out onto the streets, watching. Powdery white flakes covering their hair and decorating their scarves with white. Christmastime came and a pine tree, lit bright and embellished with ornaments, takes a place in the town square.

Within Rainy Cove is a sense of community found only in small towns-- by the first gas station back into the real world that would make sense.

  


**************************************************************************************  


  
Too many people figure out they love by the time they’re already gone. Mix CD’S and rough kisses replaced by memories and an undeniable absence. Kieren Walker should be angry about this. Furious. At least that’s what Jem has told him, when she’d learned about Rick. Insisting that it is his right to break things, to scream at the top of his lungs.

Anger would've been a more reasonable decision. Shattering bottles against the wall, getting blackout drunk and screaming at God to explain why him, why now, why here. God isn't listening because someone all so powerful didn't have to answer to why he taken Rick. God has the ability to make those decisions and never justify why he has to take Rick with him. So, for Kieren Walker, he is powerless against God and all but angry. And no matter how much the boy bled for Rick's memory, God isn't apologetic. And there Kieren is left, staring into the void of silence. Sketching the same warm eyes and candlelight laughs. The same gentle moans and stolen bottles of beer, warmed by being hidden in jacket pockets. And fuck, his best friend is gone. The boy he loved is gone.

Jem found herself at a loss about this. Her big brother is drifting in space, the same lukewarm water and she couldn't seem to reach him. All these years spent looking up to him, and now she could is watching him die with Rick and couldn't throw a rope into save him, because he didn't want it.

Jem's only choice was to get him out of there. And she hated the idea-- she fucking abhorred it, but Kier is going to die here. He is going to die in Roarton unless he got his boots on and got out. Every street is a memory, every shop window a ghost and Jem watches when his eyes were so chock full of sadness she thought the ocean would spill out of him, drowning them both.

She went and bought two bottles of cream soda and found some cheap vodka in the back of the cabinet, and practically carried Kieren to the car. He is whining and complaining that he has important things to do, but she won’t hear any of it. She knew what that meant, art and music and laying in bed, drifting in an endless sea.

  


She took him up to the top of a hill, as close to the stars they could get. The wind blew her hair about her face and Jem swore. "Fuck, it's cold." Kieren nodded. He seems lost somewhere up in the constellations.

So they sat and they drank, and the siblings talked about bullshit and parents and religion and anything but the presence of what is missing-- which is the person Kieren used to be. And Jem knew it is okay for him to change but this isn't Kieren anymore, this is a chemical in his brain creating a whole new type of person who drew languidly instead of neurotically and listens to sad slow music without bass or drums and faded in and out of being. She missed Kieren who has a life inside of him. But the bullshit talk eventually ran out because there isn't enough to fill it with, and it left the two in silence.

“Kier, you know it’s okay to hurt, right? But it’s all going to turn out right and fine. And listen, Kier, I know that's a bullshit concept to you right now, because you can't even fathom past tomorrow, but I promise. I promise.”

  


“Y’know, Jemima, I’m older than you. Stop treating me like it's your job to protect me. It's my job to protect you."  
  
Kieren says, staring up at the sky, stars still too far away from him for him to realize that Rick is one boy in a goddamn galaxy, one boy out of thousands, millions, billions, who would love his chocolate eyes and the way he loved them back.

Jem looks at him. “I know about the knives, Kier. So stop acting like you're okay. At this point, it kind of is my job to protect you. Little sisters don’t let their big brothers suffer like you are.” Looking him right in the eyes as she says words that were both accusing and protective. Reaching over, gently, Jem moved his sleeves up, looking at the tiny puff white scars.

“I’m sorry.” Quiet, afraid of an anger that sometimes comes with those sorts of confessions, but she already knew.

“Don’t say sorry. You have nothing to apologize for, Kier. Promise me you’ll stay here, whether you stay here, or not. ” More cream soda. Follow up by a gulp from the vodka bottle. “If you need to get out, get out.” She took a breath. "God, nevermind that even, please get the hell out of here. Please."

Kieren thought about it for a moment. There were a million places in this world that were better than here. Cities full of hot dog stands and dreamers on a stage. Little towns with quaint little shops. Paris. New York. London. Everywhere. He could imagine himself, in all these places, just for a moment. Moments on moments learning languages and dancing in rain puddles, a thousand different versions of Kieren Walker. Adventuring across the world. Tastes of everything.  
  
“Where would I go? I don’t know anywhere other than here. Everything I has-” he choked up a little bit, “invested. Invested in him.” Shaky breaths filled the silence between the siblings. Jem shifted a little bit, putting her arm around him. Clouds passed over, covering stars that were already there. Revealing new ones.  
  
This is a moment, right here, in which clouds were covering the old. Rick is dead, but Kieren has found his slate clean without asking for one.  
  
“You can go anywhere. Options are everywhere. Get your passport, get on a train. Boat. Plane. Throw away those goddamn knives. Make your way out of here.”

“But you and mom and dad are here-” Kieren interjected.

“Fuck mom and dad. I’ll be fine. World’s a big place, Kier. Travel. Study abroad. Share your art with these people! You have all this hope to be someone, and you’re isting it here. isting it on pain. isting it on Rick.”

  


Sometimes, there are words that just set your skin on fire. Whether with inspiration, or anger, or hope. Inspiration, in this case. Hope too. Kieren wanted to run home, pack that bag and get out. Reluctance to leave his family, and all he’d ever known, is a little restraining. What would people think of him?

  


Those knives. Those scars. Not running away from all he’d ever known. Just telling depression to fuck itself. Setting himself free.

  


But Kieren didn’t run home and pack a bag. He'd probably stay for a while longer, reading sticky notes Jem would stick everywhere, her encouragements to leave.

  


It isn’t than he wouldn't want to. But no one wants to leave what they’ve always known. Townspeople drinking late at night. Always a constant green. Chilly air. Familiar gray clouds. Running away, for Kieren, seemed something awful. Even though he wanted to, he just wouldn't be able to bring himself to do it.

  


Instead, he'd paint. Do his homework. Follow his normal routine. Only a few weeks left until the end of high school, but Kieren is planning to stay. He’d gotten into an art school, but he didn’t think he is going to go. After Rick, nothing seemed possible. Getting out of bed in the morning is a chore. Breathing itself is hard. Like the sun has sucked right out of the damn sky.

“Kier, why won’t you leave? You know that there’s no reason for you to stay. Mum and Dad want you to do something with your life.” She kept arguing this, some way or another. Kieren knew that everyone would encourage him to go.

  


Somehow, though, it feels wrong. Felt wrong without Rick leaving with him, or at least being able to say goodbye. Which meant that for now, Kieren is stuck there. Dreaming in black and white. Heart not wanting to continue to beat. Tired.

  


Wanting to sleep, but also wanting to get in a car and drive until the ends of the earth. Until the place where it is finally gone, all the pain falling away.  
As Jem argued against him, he finally replied with the truth.

  


“I’d like to leave. And I’d like to keep driving until I reach the ends of the earth. But I definitely don’t have enough gas for that.”


	2. Silver Packages Like Fallen Stars

This is it: numbness. The feel of the air on skin heightening with every breath. And suddenly, the world isn’t such a gigantic, crippling thing anymore. The world is hardly below Simon Monroe’s feet, and it keeps falling out from below him. The stress & the anxiety fades into the background, and he is consumed by only bliss.

It’s a high that will barely last for long enough to forget how much his chest hurts, and how the scars on Simon’s skin have yet to fade. Simon’s so afraid of those moments when he drinks and when he shoots up-- the moment when life will hit him again. The moment when the drugs wear off and he’s left bloody, probably, head thumping -- no gods, no saviours.

The drugs are a regular thing now. It’s the only way of killing time, money, sex for drugs, and when Simon falls down the rabbit hole he spends days within a almost comatose state, and he’s drunk with the blue caterpillar again. The mad hatter keeps giving him the needles, clicking the lighter to sanitize the needle, in turn for sex. The high is just enough to make it worth it, to make the silver packages and hard fucks too much for him to continue.

Fuck, and it hurts sometimes when they bite his lips until they’re bleeding. It hurts sometimes when the boy is already out the room before Simon can come back out of the haze, and by then it’s just a grim, cold reminder.

Maybe he is just tuning it all out now, just like he used to. But back then, he’d been tuning out with heavy music. The sex doesn’t even feel good.  
  
People walking on the streets, heads held high. Hope’s running rampant now, like a disease. Simon’s immune.  
  
Making it big has always been one of his dreams. It’s been lying in the back of his mind since he is young enough to look forward. He’s always wanted to be big and tall, living in America and having people making his coffee for him.

Now Simon has made it far enough to be in America, but not any farther than that. Too much of a coward to live in America, even. Got money together enough to get back to Britain, leaving him with only a dollar to buy food, let alone drugs. Drugs have overcome him. When he in the mirror, he pale skin, bloodshot eyes, someone people look down upon. Without love. Lonely, lonely, lonely.

No one touches him like they care anymore. Policemen kick him to wake him up when he falls asleep on park benches.  
When Simon was young, his mother was his only hero. Every night she tucked him in, she’d call him the bravest little guy she’d ever known. After he’d left, he can't help but wonder what his mum thought of Simon anymore. Looking for salvation in the bottom of a bottle, in a needle. A little- a lot of a monster.

People turn their backs on Simon in the streets. It isn’t all too surprising, either, he’s filthy and scarred.  
  
Yet even if he can't be brave for himself, there are still people who’re brave for him. Women leaving a hot cup of coffee for him, Christians bowing their heads for a moment to pray for him. Simon never noticed these things.  
  
It is like there are two people existing inside of him. One of them wants to be wrecked, to destroy others and most of all destroy himself. The other one carries sad eyes and a wish to have someone pick him up and take him far away from addiction. Far away from depression.  
  
The Smiths play on the radio as he walks past a small house. They remind him of when he was young and his mum and dad would dance together. Before things got bad and Simon became the family shame, the black sheep. That is when he started losing himself, feeling raw and numb always. Exposed to the world. High school was hell, and it seemed like Simon was the only one feeling it.

Simon can’t figure out why there are no memories of kisses like car crashes, or times where he’d felt like life was worth living. All he can remember is everyone leaving him.  


\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
When he wakes, the light is bright in his eyes.

“Fuck.” The concrete is tough under his back, and his coat’s too thin to call a pillow. He tastes blood, running his finger over his lip. Still fresh, metallic in his mouth. A taste that he knows so well.

Instinctively, he looks at his watch. Still. This golden wristwatch that his mother has given him for his sixteenth has been still for months. Just like him. Stuck in a rut, unmoving. Time has stopped for him, and he’s neglected it.

Dragging himself out of sleepiness, Simon stands up. He examines himself to make sure all of him is still there. It's a daily routine, by now. Simon crosses the street and peeks inside of a tailor shop, clock telling him that it's 7’am. April 4, a Thursday. Reminding him that he is still depressed, still addicted. Inhuman. Weak as ever.

His pack is all he has. He reaches inside of it, looking for something to eat, something to drink. Anything at all, at this moment, would be fantastic, and there is nothing.  
  
He squints up at the sky. A chill is in the air and soon it will be meals only at the soup kitchen and nights at the shelter. He's never been homeless in the winter. He doesn't want to die.

Simon finds his way to the soup kitchen that morning, a blanket of warmth wrapping around him when he opens the doors. The trees are just starting to lose leaves and  
A woman with blonde hair and a white t-shirt with dark stains on it that look like blood is holding up a conversation with another man.

“I’ve heard of this town on the coast- it’s supposed to be magical. Homeless safehaven.” An obvious skeptic, the man snorts. Simon looks over to them, holding his tray and waiting in line.  
  
“I’ve been thinking about going there, Jim. A fresh start, finally!” Blood stains argues. Jim shakes his head.  
  
“You just want to go there because it’s magical. You believe in Narnia and magical lands that can save you, but hasn't the world just fucked you over until this point?” She shakes her head.

"I have to keep believing. If I stop believing, then how will I ever survive another winter? I'm scared, Jim..."  
  
Jim laughs. "We're all scared, Sandra. The second the leaves start dropping we start planning fantasies to appease our fears."  
  
"I'm not going to die here, Jim. I'm going to die somewhere beautiful, and hopefully I'll be old and warm, underneath a comforter."  
  
"By the sea?" Jim asks. Hope glimmers in his eyes.  
  
"We'll die by the sea, and we'll grow old together, Jim."  
  
"I love you, Sandra." He takes her hands, and kisses her cheek.

Simon is served by a woman with kind eyes and a pity smile, and he thanks her. Thank you, thank you, you saved my life. Thank you for what you have done to help me and my people. Thank you. He sits and bows his head in prayer-- this has been Simon’s way since he was a child. Always. Even if he is angry with god, even if he feels like he’d been abandoned by his own religion.

If god’s a divine man on top of the clouds, then why can’t he save him? But he still prays. He always does.  


\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

All Simon managed to keep from his eviction is two pairs of clothes, his best shoes, his bible, and a book of poetry. Food, too, but he hasn’t really thought about that very much. Saving his poetry and bible has been at the top of his mind when he learned he’d have to leave.

His mum always told him that he cared more about words than common sense. So many times it has been proven to him, especially when he is young enough to decide to run away and tried to pack thirty books into the basket of his bike. Words picked him up and carries him away into faraway lands, telling him stories and allowing him to come close without having his heart broken.

Poetry expressed the unimaginable pain, all the pain in the world. Poetry's honest. Beautiful. Sour. Truthful. Raw, like Simon feels most of the time, now.  
Simon’s ill, he knows this, he knows from grade school classes what drugs do to people. He’s going to die, because the winter is too cold for a boy and his needles. A sex-crazed drug addict, that’s what they’ll call him in the papers. Dead on the side of the road.

Escaping for him meant breaking his relationship with the only thing that numbed the pain of existence. It meant leaving drugs behind, forgetting them in the past. Simon’s not sure if he could do that. Addiction’s like a prison-- his prison , not a lock or a key, just bars that can’t be pries open.. Those in that prison don't want to leave, even if the bars were spread wide.

Escaping for him meant breaking his relationship with the only thing that numbed the pain of existence. It meant leaving drugs behind, forgetting them in the past. Simon isn’t sure if he could do that. Addiction is like a prison, it really is. Those in that prison don't want to leave, even if the bars were spread wide, and an escape route.  
Coward, coward, coward.


	3. Old-Fashioned Adventure

Knives. Kieren eyes them. _It’s got to be tonight, if ever. Now or never._ Knife versus paintbrush, blood versus acrylics, skin versus canvas. The determination for Kieren to go farther than this room has passed, and he’s in mourning again. It feels like a permanent state of mourning, stuck in a rut and unable to find any way out, because Rick was supposed to be here to help him out. Kieren Walker went to sleep alone, heart beating in silence and world sitting, awaiting. Today, he awoke without a text message from Rick, without a breath left to breathe. He is resorting now to old habits, ancient memories.

Today he wants to let go. He wants to be harsh, to destroy. But still, he wants to be gentle. Call for help, pick up the phone, admit that he is breaking, falling apart. Jem wrote a hotline on a sticky note, stuck it on the handle of his knife. She wants him to make the right decision, and she trusts him to.

Kieren’s not important. He’s always known this.

Moments where he felt anything at all was when Rick made him feel. For the moments Rick touched him, gave him attention -- Kieren was important.

Kieren crumpled up the paper with the hotline number on it in his palm. He should be calling. He’s standing on the edge of a cliff and staring far, far down.What would it be like to jump? What it would be like to experience untainted freefall?

So he dials Jem instead.

“Kier?” She’d went out a couple hours ago, taking a break from her trainwreck of a brother and the responsibility she’s carried for him. A few drunkards hollered in the background.

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

“Something like that.” He doesn’t even need to ask for her to come home, she knows Kieren needs her. Kieren’s chest, for a long time, has been tightening up. Like there is a cord around his lungs. Tight, tight, tighter. Guilt screaming in his head. Pain clawing at his ribcage.

This night has got to be his call for help.

Tug of war was one of Kieren’s favourite games as a child. Yanking, pulling from both sides, a fair test of strength. Now tug of war is knife versus paintbrush, live versus death. Wishes for death but an aching for life pulling at the corners of his little heart. He is spiraling out of control.

Depression is a battle that the odds changed by the moment. And the odds really, aren't ever to Kieren's favour, and he fucking hates that it's always got to be this way.

The Walker parents are out that night, leaving Jem and Kieren to do as they please. Leaving Kieren to come face to face with guilt and pain and knives.

Jem’s car pulls into the drive. He can hear her feet scuffing as she runs up the driveway, and he hears the garage door slamming.

“Kier?” She shouts. She’s sounds so worried. Maybe she should be. Her feet thumping up the stairs.

“I’m in here.” His voice is hardly a sound. She opens the door and collapses onto her brother’s bed, eyes filling with tears.

“You’re okay.” Jem’s crying, out of joy, worry, relief.

“I didn’t think-” Her voice breaks. “I didn’t think you’d be alive. God Kier, I was so worried.

“I’m okay, I promise.” Kieren whispers, hugging her, trying his best to prove to her that he is here. Eyes sunk to the knife on his desk.

Laughing a little, Jem asks, “Did you call me instead of a hotline?”

“Yeah.”

Something about that is so uniquely Kieren. Keeping to the boundaries of the people and the things he knew. Those were just his ways.

“You’re a dumbass, Kier.”

“Yeah, I know. have always been that way. Born dumb. Stayed dumb.” That makes her laugh.

“Can you promise me somethin’?”

“Yeah, Jem.” His voice is shaky.  
“Will you please stay as my big ass dummy of a brother, please? Just be okay?”

There are a million reasons why Kieren doesn't want to live anymore, but there were 10 million more telling him to stay.

“Swear.” Kieren says it truthfully. Even if it feels like a little bit of a lie, right now. Doing the best he could for Jem, just to give her a breather. “I just want to get out of here, Jem.”

“Where? This house? This town? This life?” Jem asks.

“House, right now. Town? Maybe later.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jem always has known the right way to fix Kieren up. She tells him to get his jacket and then goes to her room for a moment. She comes back with something in a CD case and a sweater on. "C'mon, let's go to the hill."

On the edge of the town there is a somewhat tall hill. Teenagers, during the warmest days would hang out on the top. Kids use it to sled, when it snows. Jem packs a thing of wine and takes him there, probably some part of her intricate plan to convince him to get out of Roarton.

As they pull up, she puts something in the CD player. Grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “Remember when I walked on my tiptoes for nine months?” Jem asks the question as if were something Kieren could forget.

“Um, yeah?”

“Remember what you did to cure it?” Kieren’s eyes lit up.

Heavy metal mix CD. His little sister always knows the trick.

She presses play.

Both are reminiscing on those times, for a moment. Loud music's always been a passion of the siblings.

That was the best form of release, back in the days. Kinds of music that filled your head and made you want to shatter everything but rebuild yourself, piece by broken piece.

“You really should leave, Kier.”

Kieren looks around the place where he created his first memories. Bars. Homes. School. Train stations. Rick’s house. Their house. Memories pocketed in every nook and cranny, haunting.

He has the potential to go anywhere. He could learn any language and travel to any country, he could pick up on anything quickly.

There were relics of the adventures of his parents lying around, too. They’d tucked their atlases away, eventually, but they were still left in boxes and cupboards. Dusty and torn-up pages, a memorial for the days Sue and Steven ran away themselves. Road maps in boxes. Kieren could pick them up and go anywhere he wanted to.  
Kieren keeps silent, deep in thought.

“Alright.” Kieren says. He catches Jem’s eyes, nodding to say that his is serious, for real this time. He’s ready. And Jem believes him.

The town below them is quiet, lights switching off as families retire for the night. All too much of this reminds him of a dead boy. It’s time.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Recovering is what Kieren needs most, now. Mourning and staying here isn’t the right way to go. Scrutiny of his past is slowly becoming his life and he is drowning in regret. Time to let go and forget Rick Macy. Brush Bill Macy away, the man who has kept him from loving the way Rick he’d wanted to. His harsh words still echoed in Kieren’s head sometimes. Unknowing that his son is kissing Kieren like he loved no one else.

Calling him his Ren.

Not anymore! Kieren wanted to shout off this hill to the people who don't know him but they were sure they did.  
“Are you serious?” Jem asks, grinning.

“Hell yes, I am.”

Standing up and shouting in joy. Hooping and hollaring, the two siblings at the top of the hill and the lights in the town started to turn on again as people looked out their windows. Kieren and Jem Walker, (those bloody fucked up Walker kids,) shouting off the edge of the hill. Because at this moment, it feels like a victory for everyone.


	5. Breakfast With Amy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter four! Simon focused, as he begins his adventure. Trigger warning for death mention, drug mention. This is one of my favourites in the whole piece, so I really want to hear what you think!
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy it!!   
> XOXO, KC.

Simon’s all too familiar with death. When he’s not running from it, he’s running to it, and he can’t decide the grim reaper versus the angels.

Buildings tower above him, concrete giants rising out of the ground. Tonight, he wouldn’t mind. Winter is on its’ way, and he is afraid that he wouldn’t survive those nights.  
So much of his time lately is spent staring off into the distance, wondering what it is like in someplace different. Just like his childhood. Wondering if there is a place truly meant for him.

Simon settled in a small crook of the alleyway. Body burning badly with fire, like it has been for the past few hours, consuming him slowly.

Night passed with Simon’s shattered breathing, a thought in the back of his head telling him that he is above the surface of living.

“If I die, just let me die!” He mutters in his feverish sleep. Something at the moment, feels like the grim reaper is staring down at him. Breathing right down his neck, ready to take him. Scythe pointed at Simon’s throat.

Drugged and depressed, Simon’s a damn lost cause, there’s no point for him. Thinking that dying would be his best way to go and his ragged breathing filled the dark night. Simon Monroe has been fighting death and fighting for so long, a weary warrior and battle. Now, as the night crept away from him and his body broke a little more.  
Maybe, somewhere, god is standing on top of a cloud, and looking down at the sleeping, struggling, (dying,) Simon Monroe. As he looks down on this broken man, he realizes that tonight is a beautiful night to die.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Simon wakes to voices. They sound underwater, muffled by the thumping in his head.

“Do you think he’s dead?”

“Should I kick him to see?”

“Don’t kick him! What on earth is wrong with you!”   
“I mean, if he’s dead he won’t feel it?”

“Amelia!”

“Okay, okay…”

Fire is still flickering in his lungs, but it is less choking now. Simon cracks open his eyes, looking up at his curious new companion. It’s a girl with long, dark hair adorned by a flower. She’s wearing lipstick and a cheerful smile.

“‘Scuse me sir. I thought you were dead! ”

“Amelia! Don’t be so rude!” Scolds another voice.

“Sorry, we were just worried about you. We shouted at you to see if you’d like us to buy you breakfast, but you didn’t reply! Zoe told me to get out and come see if you were doing alright, and you were as cold as a corpse.”

Simon laughs something that sounds more like a coughing fit. “Mister, are you all right?”

He opens his mouth to speak but is wracked with another coughing fit.

A sleepy voice comes from inside their ride. “Amy, what’re we up to? I want pancakes…”

The other female, presumably Zoe, shushes him. Amy gets down on her knees next to Simon, looking at him with kind, soft eyes. “Is it drugs?”

Simon only nods, coughing blood into his hand.

“What’s your name?” Asks the girl, Zoe, leaning out the window of their Volkswagen.

“Simon.” His voice is hoarse. God, he's fallen deeper into illness overnight. Maybe he'll die before winter finally comes.

"Well, Mister Simon, myself and my companions are looking to take you to breakfast, because it's been a very cold night and we thought you were dead. Will you come with us?"

Simon doesn't see why not. "You aren't serial killers hoping to pick off a weak man off the street?"

That makes Amy laugh. "No, we're just hoping to meet some strangers on our way to our new home. Is that alright with you?"   
Simon nods. "Sure, seems fine with me."

Amy grins, and helps him onto his feet. "You're one of the first to actually accept that invitation, and it's so nice to meet you, Simon! Now do you want pancakes too?"

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m funny lookin’, I know. Not as much as you though!” Says Amy when she notices Simon is staring at her across the wagon. He's met her other companions, Philip, Zoe, and Brian, and they totally seem like the not serial killer type. _Especially_ when Simon has a plate of pancakes and eggs sitting in front of him. They're genuinely nice people, asking him questions about what his favourite movies are, what his favourite band is.

"So where are you all off to?" Simon asks, and they tell him they are off to a place called Rainy Cove -- a fabled little town by the sea. They tell him that it's a place where magic and miracles happen. He's never heard of it before.

"We just upped it and decided to move across and find a better place for us!"

"How spontaneous of you." Replies Simon.

"You're telling me. Amy made us pack all the trunks in one night." Complains Brian, and everyone laughs.

Simon appreciates what he gets from the kitchen, but this is the best meal he's had since before the eviction. Everyone shares coffee and smiles and Simon thinks - wow - these are the kindest people he's met in a long time. It's warm in the diner and while his chest hurts, this is better than he's felt in a while. The checkered linoleum floor is better than any concrete morning spent wishing his life had went a different way.

"Zoe, oh my god! I have an idea!" Zoe gives Amy attention and she whispers the plan in her ear, and Zoe's eyes widen. "Mister Simon, Zoe and I have come to a consensus that you should come _with us_ on our journey! How fun would that be?"

"Goodness, that is... that's really kind of you but I have no money and nothing to give you in return for such kindness."

"Your company!" Offers Philip, grinning at Simon. "We enjoy you, and you should be able to be as spontaneous as us in your personal adventures. Come with us, Simon."

“And well, you seem a little lonely in your alleyway there and no one, not even you, I’m sure of that, wants to sleep in an alleyway. Or deserves to.” Adds Brian. Today the kindness of strangers is shining through more than it ever has before.

"You don't have to be lonely anymore." Says Zoe. "You have us now."

And all of a sudden, Simon feels like crying because it's never been like this before. He's been alone in cold alleyways for almost a year, now, and love like this has never shone through so prominently.

And he does start crying. "Yes, yes absolutely." And Amy hugs him and his tear-stained face, and he's never felt love for anyone else more, because these strangers are like angels in dark places.

“We’re gonna be besties.”

He’s been a dead man walking for months. Maybe today he just might be saved.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Amy's behind the wheel and the music is loud, driving past cows and trees on route something or other. A stuffed, ragged tiger attached to the corner of the front window.  
His new companions are laughing, singing along, and talking. They stop every so long because someone starts complaining about having to pee, and they collapse in laughter outside of the van because of some bad joke. They're strangers and everything happening is so random, all of a sudden, but it feels like home. And that's the most important part.

Simon Monroe finds himself smiling for the first time in months.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this piece since 2013/2014 for the original Siren Big Bang. This piece is my baby, and I've put so much love and effort into it. (This is all going to sound a bit pretentious, so bear with me here. I've got a lot of emotions.) Thank you SO SO MUCH to my best friends and my parents, for nurturing it even when it was just 1 chapter and not 19. Thank you to the admins of the In The Flesh Big Bang, for being so flexible with my needs and my mental health issues, it really means the world to me. Thank you to my beta reader @warpcorps, for all the hard work, and to my artist, for being absolutely amazing. I've grown and developed as a writer & a human being and this piece developed with me, and it's truly amazing reading and editing over it and seeing the incredible changes that occurred as I grew up with the fic. As always, thank you in advance to anyone who reads or checks it out, and extra thanks to anyone who leaves kudos. I always appreciate comments and kudos, especially on this one, because hell, it's been a long ride with this one. 
> 
> Volume 2 will be on it's way, eventually. 
> 
> XOXO KC


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